Anatomy of a Goddess
by Naidoo
Summary: Counterpart to 'Anatomy of a God'. His thoughts on her.


_**A/N:** Sorry it took a bit longer to get this out, but somehow I wasn't as inspired to write his thoughts on her than her's on him =) Also, could we maybe agree, just this one, to not ask for a sequel? LOL Just ... once, you know? :)_

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I've been in love with quite a couple of girls before, bedded even more, but never did I date someone like Penelope Garcia. It seems like everything is perfect about her. Like the perfect girl, the perfect best friend, the perfect girlfriend.

And there is nothing that isn't perfect and that I don't love about her.

With Penelope everything is always a bit of a surprise. She loves to change the color of her nearly weekly and I never know what her current color of the week is until I actually see it being demonstrated at work in the office as well. Not that I ever have complained. I love all her weird, strange, unusual and most definitely not natural colors and streaks, strands and tips. They make other people see what I saw all along. How colorful she is and not just hair and clothe wise, but also when it comes to her character.

I love the length of her hair, which, I know, is a weird fact. It just tickles in all the right places when she is on top and leans forward.

There is only one thing that makes a gorgeous woman even more gorgeous. And that is intelligence. And of that she had enough. From her ability to hack into any computer all over the world to speaking French – which drove me insane in a very, very good way.

Her eyes always used to fascinate me. Long before we started dating. They are so deep and brown and somewhat mysterious. With one look at me she can deliver every sort of emotion. From wicked to loved up, from annoyed to amused. She doesn't even need to talk, one look in her eyes and I know exactly what she wants to say.

Another thing I was long in love with before we started dating are her lips. Those ruby red, velvet soft lips which I actually tend to dream about doing all wonderful and indecent things to me. Even today I am obsesses with them, even more so I would say.

It shouldn't come as a surprise that I love her breasts. They are perfect. Round. Firm. Plenty. I could spent hours playing with them, let my hands push them up, squeeze them, part them and just let them fill my hands.

Even her skin is perfect. The pale, alabaster color of hers is perfect for leaving marks all over her body and they'll be still visible weeks after the original creation date – a fact Penelope actually hates, since once or twice she was forced wearing turtlenecks for quite some time because I once again got too eager. What can I say? I love her and I love for the whole world to see she is very much taken and very much mine.

I love her curves, her voluptuous, round, soft curves, of which I can never get enough of. And Penelope for sure had a lot of curves going on. From the perfection of her breasts, to the wonderful curving of her derriere and the softness of her thighs.

I love peeling every single piece of clothing she is wearing during day off of her at the end of it, taking my time to get her out of every garment carefully. I love watching to come to light what no one else will ever see, the parts of her body that are only reserved for my eyes and my eyes only.

I love the noises I get out of her, the moans and groans, the slight purr when nibbling on her earlobes of kissing a trail down her neck, the feel of her finger nails digging into my flesh shortly before she reaches the point of no return. Her fingernails have once off twice left some rather painful souvenirs on my body – not that I ever would complain – and I see them as revenge for me marking her body in love bites anyway.

She loves getting foot rubs, which doesn't surprise me when I look at the shoes she is wearing all day long. And I love giving her what she wants. Every night. And the noises coming from her when I do usually equal the ones she is making only a while later when we move on to the next step of the 'all around taken care of' program.

But the part I loved the most of her were her ankles. Which bear in black ink 'Derek' on the left one and 'Morgan' and the right one – a thought that makes me shiver even now, eight months since she had gotten herself branded. I loved letting my fingers caress over the letters, spending hours admiring it and thinking about the declaration and promise she gave me with this.

And maybe it was my time to make a declaration and promise to her now. By asking her to become my wife. Tonight. In front of all our friends. AT her favorite Italian.

After all, once you find perfection you should never let it go.

And that's what she is.

Perfect. From head to toe.


End file.
